


Unconventional Conversations

by ShyNomad



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyNomad/pseuds/ShyNomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't usually talk about it, but that doesn't mean that nothing's been said. Spoilers up to and including 2x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconventional Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into Agent Carter. I have been inspired by the abundance of fantastic fic here (and Hayley Atwell's face) so here is my thanks and a small contribution. Feedback and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

“Please do not do that again,” he says.

“Get impaled? Yes, Chief.” 

The words are light because that is her shield, levity in the face of danger. But he needs to touch her just to be sure, the skin that was so recently pale and clammy now warm and alive under his fingers.

It must be written somewhere on his face (he’s never been able to match her British stoicism, not even after 3000 miles) because she lets him. Her eyes are molten with fatigue and pain but he’s still peering into their depths, wondering how deep he’ll fall this time.  
Her curls are now an afterthought and the beads of sweat dotting her forehead suggest the true effort it takes for her to wield the forced humor, reminders of her bleeding out in the back of the car while he applied pressure with less than steady hands, his heart in his throat.

But her eyes are hinting at something else entirely, and his hands no longer tremble against her.  
\--

“What did you get into?” she asks.

His breath catches for the brief second it takes her manicured fingers to inspect the bandage at his temple and the gentleness is not something he’s accustomed to, not from her. 

Maybe he imagines her brushing ever so slightly against the shell of his ear - but soon she is all business, the compassion in her eyes garnered by his explanation quickly morphing into a steely resolve. 

He prefers it that way, for what’s left of his ego couldn’t handle pity from her.

But somehow the bruises spanning his chest ache less when he sees her fists flying furiously at Masters’ face.

And when she doesn’t meet his gaze as he offers her ice for her swollen knuckles…

“What did you get into?” he asks.

Peggy looks at him then and a corner of her mouth turns up, confirming his suspicions. “Some unfinished business.”

“Lot of that going around,” he winks, with more bravado than he has a right to when it comes to her.  
\--

She stares at him from across the line in the dirt (there is always something between them) and it occurs to him now how incredibly close he came to disappearing into that gaping cold abyss. The sun beats down, warm and bright, and he collapses, thankful to be on solid ground (with her) once more.  
\--

Peggy confesses to him that day not with words but with her hands (scraped with rope burn) framing his face and with her lips, soft yet insistent against his. 

His surprise is soon replaced by a pleasant thrumming in his veins and he answers her earnestness stroke for stroke, fingers tightening against her waist. She leans into him and the weight of her body against his makes him feel whole again, and even as he stumbles back towards his chair she follows.

He’s dazed when she pulls away but the light in her eyes speaks to his battered heart. As she leans in he tries to memorize her texture, her taste, the softness of her curls beneath his fingers. And he wonders what else she might have to say.

THE END


End file.
